


Spark

by spindleofwords



Series: It Takes Them Four Years and Maybe Nearly Dying [8]
Category: Static Shock
Genre: AU, Crime Fighting, Gear!Whump, Jump and Run, M/M, Ragtag, Static!whump, Superheroes, dc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8439517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spindleofwords/pseuds/spindleofwords
Summary: When your someone is all you have.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's some cussing in the mental dialogue, the regular prose, and the in-character dialogue. So beware if you're not into that, but I can't see how Rich and V would make it to senior year in high school without some well placed cuss words.
> 
> Rating may go down if there's not a make-out scene or more in this chapter. We'll see!

They wore the heat emblazoned on their shoulders and around their eyes, Virgil’s goggles leaving him with a ridiculous tan and Richie’s soon abandoned after a regretful sunburn. 

(V found himself sneaking into Sharon’s medicine cabinet to blend her face stuff on his own cheekbones so the cameras didn’t catch a likely looking civilian at every crime scene. He also began to pin his mane into a ponytail, the locs long enough to catch-drag against the bottoms of his collared shirts even when they’re up and swingin’. When he superheros, he has them out. Any small thing to draw the line, he tells himself, and to keep the worry lines off of Richie’s face.)

 

A lot of the down time was spent in Virgil’s bed— sleeping. Puberty was kicking both their asses with a vengeance, and the hours of sleep their bodies were requiring didn’t fit the superhero demands at all. Hems were taken out and seams abandoned in the quest for a fit for the ever-taller, ever-wider legs and shoulders, leaner hips that Virgil pressed kisses into as he fitted Rich for his third pair of Gear pants that summer. Quiet smiles as Richie took Virgil’s measurements yet again, thighs corded with muscle that made it hard to concentrate. 

No pool, this year; no time for manmade waves or for Richie bowling him over with that sunny grin, for the shortout it would cause. Too many Bang babies; Monday one, Wednesday three, Thursday another two and a something that could barely be counted as human. Endless cycling of faces and powers and tired nights at the gas station, patching each other up and shoving the cushions around until the two of them could fit on the lumpy surface and fall asleep knowing the other was still there. Still breathing.

 

Friday, and some two-bit had Dumb and Dumber pulling jobs for him at the docks.

Somehow, it seemed Friday could never clear of baddies long enough for Virgil to do anything with Rich, and that Friday was no different. The night trailed in wisps and tendrils as Gear and Static flashed through it, heading towards a small ruckus at the docks. 

 

Three average goons, one older man and the others probably no older than them both, were arguing at the door to a very shady and almost overtly illegal warehouse, one with hands gripped tight around the cart he was pushing stacked with boxes. The warehouse itself was in poor condition, dilapidated and creaky, and the roof looked eager to spill squeaky secrets-- the duo landed on a roof safely across the way with a better propensity for keeping quiet footsteps. 

 

“Are they even trying anymore, man?”

 

Virgil snorted softly at Gear’s whispered question, feeling the exasperation roll off in tense waves from his friend’s stance. Letting his elbow worm its way in between green-covered ribs, Static shot back softly, “Hey, at least this time there’s only three and not some toxic slug thing.”

 

The shudder of the body next to him brought a rush of focus, bringing into deep context Gear’s fabric whispering, the shine of the moon off of his mask, the gleam of his helmet and his neck, biceps and triceps pushing the sleeves for mercy-- and in the next breath, Virgil brought himself back into Static and retrained his eyes. Stupid mistakes, and wasn’t he lucky no one had seen them, or thought to check the surrounding buildings? For all Static knew, there were three more lackeys prowling the surrounding buildings under orders of a particularly paranoid megalomaniac.

 

Can’t afford to drift like this, Virgil thought absently as he watched the figures on the ground push each other around. Two of them seemed to be taking orders begrudgingly from the other, and any minute now....

 

Gear stifled a laugh as two of the men huffily stopped pushing crates, dramatically taking a stance against the obviously bored older man. For all the suppressing, the sound still lit up the joints of Static’s body, made him feel alive and pulsing before settling back into the warm thrum of barely-under. Sliver of white in the dark still gave away the energy burst, but he let it happen because Gear already knew what he does to Virgil. The river’s cool breeze bore up the triad’s voices like blowing a message to a deity, and maybe it was a blessing, for Gear grabbed Virgil’s (not Virgil, not V, not Ovid only Static, he had to focus, dammit, couldn’t Rich see that touching him was only making it worse) arm tightly before either of them could rise from their crouch and be illuminated by the moon.

 

“Middle of the fucking night, man, this is some bullshit-- how do you even know this motherfucker’s gonna show?”

 

“Yeah, Ragtag. Where the fuck is this guy if he wants the stuff so badly?”

 

“You’re both dumbasses, he’s on his fucking way. Probably because the two of you almost got caught gettin’ the goods, that’s why. Motherfucking unreliable. Keep your mouths shut or I’ll take away your supply.”

 

‘Ragtag’ raised one hand, his voice still bouncing between the empty buildings meanly. Even from a distance it was easy to see the way both young men fell to their knees, energy drained, before the older man abruptly restored whatever they had lost. Puzzle pieces broken and just as swiftly seared back together, jarringly. Breathing hard, the two men both went about carting things out of the warehouse to the edge of the dock again with little protest, one of them breaking into a superhuman run. The older man walked into the warehouse with a spiteful grin, calling, “That’s what I like to see, boys.”

 

“Well, fuck me,” Gear breathed out. “Looks like we don’t just have some likely looking civilians on our hands, boss.”

 

Static nodded grimly. “Yeah, I hear you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a day late and I'm sorry, but here, have Static whumpage in payment? Eh, you're right. Kinda shitty payment. Sorry not sorry <3

Only a few boxes were littered here and there over the area of the dock inhabited by the baddies, and the dank scene was something straight out of a Plant Man comic, complete with suspenseful shadows in the moonlight that the pair of them moved carefully through. Probably, Gear was thinking the same thing Static was-- they needed to split and flank them, so they could each take out one of the small time goons. Then, Ragtag would be open to attack together and it could be an easy bag.

As the two of them reached a close enough point and crouched low, Gear pushed himself close enough to whisper, “I’ll take the right and you take the left?”

 

The other’s dreads bussed against the sharp line of Gear’s cheek as Static nodded shortly, just once. Just as quickly the two bodies of mass were separated, beginning the orbit of battle as they stretched further and further from each other. The strain in his thighs from keeping his crouch enticed Static to bounce a little in a dynamic stretch as he lurked around, trying to figure out the best position he could get into. 

 

Both young men seemed to be nearly done with their chore, and their voices were riding the wind up again. The initial hit of sound made Static freeze, but he relaxed when he realized there was no danger. In the position he was in, an entire building away, Static could see Gear massaging an ache out of one of his thighs, and his tension bled away. Refocusing, the hero turned from his helmeted friend and looked back down, watching McGoon 1 and McGoon 2 finish moving the crates.

 

“Don’t he seem too sure of himself, man?”

 

The runner shrugged wearily. “Jump, we pulled off the first job without anyone comin’ after us. We ain’t gotta worry about anything. You ain’t sure?”

 

Jump looked appropriately jumpy, even from Static’s bird eye view. “Naw, I ain’t, it feels--”

 

And motion happened so quickly, Static felt himself separate into Virgil and Static, two voices warring for the mic in his head. Jump had Gear in a headlock on the roof, how the fuck was he on the roof, and Virgil was shouting for Richie but Static was laying the speedster flat on his ass-- or trying, because dude was damn fast. A good one to the face, the asshole put his entire weight into the punch, a right left almost right because V caught the errant arm and twisted up, out, used his board to sweep the guy off his feet and sprain an ankle. A quick bash against the concrete and the other man was groaning and disoriented, and he looked up to find Gear pressed into the ground by Jump, a big linebacker of a person. Face locked in a snarl, Static took off towards the pair, hearing their voices buffeted by the air, wind fickle as anything. 

 

“--and you’re a sidekick for what? We got people. You could be running things, man, you smart enough.”

 

Richie gasping in pain, his tone a living and biting thing. “Get off me, you don’t know shit, you don’t know me or him--”

 

A distraction. A blink, and they weren’t there, they weren’t on the roof and Static almost fell off the board trying to turn around to see Jump and the other goon frogmarch a half-conscious Gear into the warehouse. 

 

And so it was to be a trap. He followed anyways because he was many things but he wasn’t strong enough to leave Richie to these people long enough to figure out a plan besides ‘Bring down everyone, check.’ 

 

Of course it was dark in the warehouse, too dark to see, but he was electric and emotional and terrifying. One twist of the wrist from Virgil and the lights went flickering up, on and off as he swept into the rows of boxes the warehouse boasted. It was grossly quiet, which meant that R--Gear was either unconscious or at the mercy of one of the punks who took him. Footsteps as quiet as he could manage in his combat boots, Static cozied up to one shelf, back-to-metal, and peered around it. It was going to be a waiting game, he knew, a waiting game for either of the Babies to show themselves. 

 

And there-- a flash of movement in between flickers, too fast to just be the shadows dancing on the walls. The ache of his shoulders told Static that he was tensing, but he didn’t have time to worry, he only hunkered down and watched for the flash again. A hit of red and then the floor was horizontal, his abdomen on fire and aching deeply, but it was what he wanted. Static managed to hold on as the speedster tried to shake him off, and heard the goon start grunting, clearly expecting to have tackled the hero and gotten away free. 

 

Instead, Virgil’s hand found the perp’s shoulder, sideswiping fabric to get at bare skin with his fingertips.

 

“Whatthefuckmangetthefuckawayfromme---” The punk spoke as fast as he moved, a zipblur around the warehouse. Static was getting queasy but he had to focus through the whipping scenery. 

 

Just a little more to clear, fabric bunched in tiny folds in only the frustrating way that jerseys kicked up, and then there was too warm skin under Virgil’s fingers, and he pushed down his fingerprints into that fucker and just gathered. It was a bit uncomfortable as the initial shock happened, both of the young men’s bodies pressed together and conducting into each other, a closed circuit. But the the electricity welcomed him home as the Baby came to a complete stop and slumped onto the floor, screaming as Virgil tased him. Static knew enough to be opening a low, low current to run through the prone body he was now kneeling in front of, watching the flash of the man’s metal earrings. The fiery feeling of satisfaction ripped through Virgil as the man fell prone, unconscious from the pain, but it did nothing to insulate the drop he suddenly experienced as he slammed into the floor.

 

The room was spinning and the pressure in his head told him at least one of his ears needed to pop, but he tried to stand anyways, his hair whipping softly as he shook his head clear. There, clear across the warehouse, was the punk in red still dead to the world, so where…?

 

Hands on his shoulders this time and he was in the air so quick, falling into a wall. How was it even possible to fall--- Static grunted as his shoulder hit the concrete first, a strike of flashing pain that drew the remaining air from his lungs as he rolled down and fell to the floor. A soft whisper of movement drew the hero’s attention, and he rolled over to see the other (Jump? Was his name Jump? The pain was fuzzy as hell) Baby prodding and picking up the speedster. There was softness in the punk’s face that Virgil found himself transfixed by, wondering if, well...and then the thought was shoved away with throb from his shoulder as he tried to pick himself up. Most certainly dislocated, then, but he didn’t have time to set it or even worry about the damage, not when Jump was preoccupied so...Gear was probably alone. And unprotected.

 

He poured his body into a standing position, figuring that if Jump was preoccupied and he couldn’t see him, then the Baby couldn’t teleport to him. The warehouse was making settling down noises and was quieting, though the chorus of bells in his ears were ever louder, and Virgil knew he was losing his window, so he quickly dodged into a corner’s shadows and untied his boots with shaking hands and strangely stiff shoulder. It felt weird to traipse around a building without shoes, but they were clunky and loud and Jump would definitely hear him if he was walking around in them, moving swiftly to the cover of the box racks. It wouldn’t matter, Virgil told himself, if he had the damn shoes on or not if he couldn’t get his breathing under control. Every step he took reverberated in his ears, counterpoint to the raw ache in his shoulder and the spasm of his lungs trying to pull air in too fast.

 

They’d practiced this, setting up a course in the warehouse. Richie had insisted on doing it in complete dark, trying to be silent, convinced something would come where they needed to slow their breathing, get in, get out. Damn Richie and his glorious, terrible hunches.


	3. Chapter 3

Counts were easy and slow, so Virgil took a breath in and a step. Took a breath out, and a step. Took another breath in, strained his ears-- the rows seemed to go on forever, library-like stacks of metal cases in a maze that were crazy intimidating, looming on either side of V like particularly stoic sentries. His lungs expanded again and he took another step, let out his breath-- and froze. The husky sound of labored breathing strained very faintly from the hero’s right, but he had to be sure. Virgil was urging him to press on and damn all consequences but Static not only knew that was stupid, he also knew Gear wouldn't thank him for it later. So he waited in the small space he was crouched in for three full breaths, a metal shelf warming slowly to his back and his shoulder throbbing in time.

But the sound didn't disappear, it didn't move, and now Static’s feet moved faster, spurred on by the hope of laying hands on Richie and getting the hell out with their lives intact.

That need to leave urgently was swiftly replaced as Virgil came upon Gear, laying sprawled on the concrete like so much dead weight. The blonde was torn up, his hair matted with blood on one side and his cheeks rouged with it, but Virgil wasn't close enough in the dim light to find where the blood was coming from and he almost forgot himself and rushed to Richie’s side, but.

But, there was a body unaccounted for, and but, he wasn't sure where the other Bang baby was, so he stayed to the shelves and darted from one shadow to another closer to the main wall of the warehouse. Virgil was rewarded for thinking through his motions; there were stacks of boxes against the concrete wall, near that two voices could be heard in hushed argument. 

“It was freaky, man, and he almost murdered him. No way am I puttin’ hands on him again.”

“I don't care what he did. Letting him get away was sloppy. You were lucky to stop him and then you fucked it up. Just never mind; get Run up and finish bringing the shit in. I'll deal with the battery boy.”

The older man came into Virgil’s view as he poked at Gear’s foot with a walking stick to see if he was awake. When that didn't work, the man growled and rapped on the unconscious hero’s knee and succeeded in producing a agonized groan. Chest tightening, Static could feel his body gag but Ragtag would see him immediately if he came out of his hidey hole. He had to wait. 

“You up, brains? C’mon, stop pussyfooting around.”

Gear winced at the loud sound of Ragtag’s voice and Static took another breath, trying to calm the raging current that flared when the man spoke. Richie opened woozy eyes to dimly see Ragtag over him, and Virgil could see his head bob and weave like a bobblehead, most likely with a concussion even through the helmet they’d worked on to prevent high force trauma. Static took another ineffective breath; the goons would have had to literally try to bash his head in if Richie was in such bad shape. From the look of familiarity the old man had with swinging his walking stick around, it was most likely with that.

Rich’s--no, not Richie, Gear’s, another hero and a trained badass, not his sweet boyfriend-- mouth moved silently, and then his backpack swayed and dipped as he choked on a cough. Trying again, wiping what seemed like blood from his mouth, Gear managed, “Get away from me.” And he was trying to get his arms under him but Virgil could tell that he was still shaking from the shock and he couldn’t do it, that pale green slipping and rasping against the concrete floor, and Static could feel himself start to vibrate from an angry, ripping current building in his circuits.

Ragtag laughed, a clawing rasp of ugliness that made Virgil’s leg start to cramp with lack of movement, but he needed to be patient, had to actually use his brain and think, but that was what Gear was for, wasn’t it? 

“Your partner seems to have bounced on you, boy.”

Gear scoffed, lifting himself to a sitting position with an enormous push of effort. “He wouldn’t. You all are really the world’s dumbest, huh?”

Ragtag moved so quickly even Static blinked, his form standing and gone the next. He crouched low and grabbed the back of Richie’s neck, vice-like with white knuckles. “Naw, you’re the fool. He looks like he’d bounce and leave you here to sort this shit out by yourself. You get tired of not running the operation?”

Gear shifted, weakly trying to shove Ragtag away from him. Static saw his helmet jerk as he winced under the tightening touch of Ragtag. 

“We both run it, that’s what partners do, something a hopped-up egomaniac with narcissism wouldn’t fucking understand--”

“Is that so,” Ragtag sneered, his voice lowered, “because it looked like you was following orders up on that rooftop, and I think that you could be better than that. We seen you in the news, brain-boy, and I need someone smarter than Dumb and Dumber afraid of flashing lights.”

Gear sputtered, his struggle more and more apparent as blood started to run down his neck and stain his uniform collar. “Why in hell would I go evil? You’re the stupidest any Baby has ever been, get the _fuck _away from me, man.”__

__Ragtag cocked his head to the side, oily gray hair sliding across the back of shoulders._ _

__“Because, dumbass, I can give you whatever you want. Whichever powers you want. I know you musta been pissed when you woke up with nothing but some extra brainpower.”_ _

__“Shut _up _\--”___ _

____Ragtag did something Virgil couldn’t see and Gear gasped, body stiff as Ragtag did...something, arm muscles flexing as he kept a solid grip on the blonde._ _ _ _

____“All these badasses with negative energy, one dude that can become a goddamn void, another G throwing fire, and here you are. Just some bookworm, same old nerd.” Gear roared, his hands twisting in the man’s coat and shirt trying to push him away, but Static could see his face getting red from where he was, could see what looked like tears in Richie’s eyes. Ragtag’s voice filled with a cruel mockery as he tossed Richie from side to side like a puppet. “Ooo, I’m badass too, I got this extra brain, I’ll throw a book, they won’t know what hit them. Some pretty lies, kiddo, but doesn’t this feel good?” And Richie stiffened again and Static realized he must be pumping some sort of energy into him in waves, something insidious because his boyfriend was still _crying. _Winded, Gear slumped as the energy left him again and still, feebly, his hand scrabbled at Ragtag’s on his skin, face contorted in pain and misery.___ _ _ _

______“I don’t need it. I don’t need your shit.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The old man scoffed and threw Richie on the ground, his helmet clunking against the concrete hollowly._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Whatever. Since your boy pulled a Houdini, you’re lucky I’m even offering. You was stupid enough to get caught, too, so maybe don’t go pointing fingers. We can’t all be brainiacs, am I right? I’m sure if you think about, you can see it’s a smart fucking choice. Super strength, breathing fire, flying, you could have whatever you wanted. Stay weak if you want to, though, bookworm.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He cackled at his own wit and threw a kick at Richie’s ribs, smile growing as Gear groaned, and Static couldn’t physically wait any longer, rage whipping in his gut like a Tesla coil. With this new position, Ragtag finally had his back to Static and the superhero took the advantage, loping across the ground to flying-tackle the man over Richie’s body, the satisfying thud of his body under Virgil’s revving his current even hotter._ _ _ _ _ _

______V didn’t even call up the current, just flipped the man over and started punching the shit out of him, feeling the satisfying smack of his flesh under his knuckles as he dislocated the man’s nose with a jab and left a pretty bruise on temple with a hook._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Don’t fucking touch him, he doesn’t need you, he doesn’t even need me, I’ll fucking kill you--”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Static didn’t realize he was snarling until Ragtag bellowed and grabbed for the teen’s head, palms firmly against his temples and fingers digging in his scalp. His vision started to go spotty as his body swayed, arms weakening until he couldn’t lift his wrist to throw the punch, let alone follow through the motion. Such an extreme fatigue, and if their roles were reversed wouldn’t Richie have already figured out that if the creepy old guy could give energy he could also drain it? Absolutely brilliant work, V, Static thought as his vision started to black out. He was fumbling for the man’s face, neck, anything for a contact point and to close the circuit somewhere else to taser the villain, but Ragtag was thrashing and he couldn’t see a damn thing, he couldn’t even draw enough air into his lungs to breathe properly, he was going to pass out because he wasn’t smart enough to save his own boyfriend._ _ _ _ _ _

______And then the hands abruptly dropped, leaving Virgil to flop off the man onto the concrete. The clatter of wood on concrete inspired Virgil to make the superhuman effort to turn his head and see Richie kick the walking stick away from him with his good leg, nose and brow scrunched like he wanted to cry some more. Another superhuman effort helped him look back over and see Ragtag’s hair matted with blood. Not dead, his chest still moving, but undoubtedly out like a light._ _ _ _ _ _

______Taking deep breaths, V willed himself up and grabbed for Richie, cradling him cautiously as the other young man inched towards him._ _ _ _ _ _

______“You better not listen to him, you’re the strongest of us all; I should’ve just killed him for what he said to you.” Virgil pressed desperate kisses to Richie’s cheekbones where there wasn’t scabbing or open wounds. Richie hiccuped a laugh, one hand coming up to pet V’s locks._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I know I’m the best of us, V, it goes along with best looking.” A weak joke but Richie smiled under that Gear helmet, the mask sadly chipped over his left brow and a spiderweb crack emanating from that._ _ _ _ _ _

______They stayed together just holding each other for just a few seconds, brown hands stark against the pale skin of the bruised boy, but eventually Virgil pulled back with a huff._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m sure Tweedledee and Tweedledum are around here somewhere. We need to find a way out, now.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Wincing, Gear flopped into a sitting position, waving a tired hand. “Actually, he gives them their powers. Kinda like what he was offering me. I saw them both come in here for a ‘hit’ before he knocked me out. So they should be running out right about now.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Static nodded tiredly, still partially focusing on pulling air into his lungs._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Convenient.”_ _ _ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small note: I'm diverging again from main canon. I'll probably stick an AU tag on here somewhere again. Really, the whole series needs one and I know it, trust me. But I always felt Sharon was done a disservice because she wasn't super visible in the series, so I'm putting her brilliance and ruthlessness to good use. She'd be a bomb ass healthcare professional.
> 
> Sorry this is so short! Next piece incoming!

Between the two of them, the duo got Ragtag trussed up in a rope bug from Gear’s pack, and once Run and Jump came back seeking another pump from Ragtag, Virgil was ready with a nice present for them both, hitting them both with a few Zap Caps each to take them down and get them tied up too. One call from Gear to the police and they both began the long, limping journey home, leaving three presents behind for the boys in blue. 

It was a challenge to fit them both on the saucer while he was still winded, and he barely had enough juice to get them floating, but the silver disc deposited them at the gas station shakily all the same, and Virgil fumbled with the door but helped Richie hop in. Before anything, Virgil walked Rich over to the couch and went through the concussion protocol, though Rich tried to bat away his hands. 

“Dude, they never hit me on the head. Ragtag drained me like, two or three times, that’s why I was unconscious. Stop it!”

Virgil caught Richie’s chin and forced him to look into the flashlight to check his pupils and eyes, murmuring, “I understand that, but I still need to check. Call me crazy but at least it’ll be safe. You stop it.”

With no concussion imminent to either teen, Virgil cleaned up the cuts on Richie’s cheeks from being tossed around, thumb passing gently over a bruise low on his jaw where one of the goons must’ve got him. And then, slowly, clothes were peeled away, first Static’s jacket and then, with Virgil’s help, Gear’s uniform shirt, V running careful hands down the bruises blooming across Rich’s ribs, arms, thighs, neck. He pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Richie’s neck while cleaning the other teen’s shoulder injuries and the blonde put his head in his hands, shoulders tense and shaking. Virgil bit back worry and knelt to do Gear’s pants, only to have him shoot out a hand and grab V’s wrist.

“What? What is it?”

Gear winced, looking at his leg propped up on the sofa. “Don’t pull on ‘em. They’ve dried to my leg.”

Cursing softly, Virgil looked over his boyfriend’s leg, easily identifying the dark stain now that Rich had piped up. The stain oozed across the top of his thigh diagonally, nasty and crusted over in a brown rusty red. Sparing a look at the med kit’s insufficient supplies, V answered softly, “We can’t fix this, I can’t stitch this; you’ve gotta get to a hospital. We could tell them you’ve been in a street fight, fits me too. Then they won’t ask too many dumb questions.”

Richie moaned and laid his head on the couch cushion he was laying against. “But the hospital is more than just a few blocks from here, V. You gonna call an ambulance to the top-secret lair, have the EMTs jump out and turn their backs while you bring me out?”

“No, smartass, I wouldn’t-- but...we do know a nurse.”

Richie looked at Virgil incredulously. “I cannot imagine who you’re thinking of unless you’re thinking of who I’m thinking of and that is Not a Good Idea, capital letters, V.”

“Who else, Rich? No one. I’m not playing with your health like that.”

“Your sister is not a good backup option!”

Virgil side-eyed him viciously but he was already on the phone, the line ringing. Huffing, Richie closed his eyes and listened to Virgil talk his sister into coming down to an abandoned gas station, smooth voice serious and pleading. She, uncharacteristically, agreed with few insults and with a brevity that surprised the blonde. 

As an exhausted silence settled in the station, Virgil leaned his head back against the couch, splayed in a sitting position on the rug as Richie played in his hair. “You know,” the blonde started, his voice small, “I was really messed up with that hit. Like, I don’t think I would’ve switched sides. But the way that it felt-- physically, more strength and more energy and just more, I was just more, and I didn’t think I wanted that anymore. But it felt really good. And that scared me, V, I was terrified.” 

One hand reached to entwine with the one in his hair, and Virgil twisted and stretched to press a kiss to it. Moving stiffly onto his knees, the man turned to face Richie head on and waited until he had the other’s eye contact.

“You have always been more than enough, man, but-- what do you need from me? A pep talk? Just to listen? Some heavily censored makeout action?”

Richie huffed amusedly, pulling at Virgil’s hands. “Maybe just to be held. That okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” the teen affirmed as he scrambled up onto the couch and gingerly fit himself around the blonde’s body, both of them warm as they sank into the worn cushions. 

******************************************  
The knock on the door of the lair startled them both, and set Richie to cussing colorfully as his leg jostled. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry-- just wait, Sharon, goddammit, wait!”

Virgil was halfway off the couch, body stiff with injuries and moving too slowly when Sharon marched into the station, reluctance and general annoyance already dripping in her tone.

“Now listen baby brother, if you called me here for no reason----”

“ _Sharon _\--”__

__She froze as she took in the scene, an open med kit sprawled on the banged-up coffee table, the gauze and other loose ends strewn on the table and rug. Her eyes traveled over Virgil’s ripped shirt, his mask on the other table next to a worn helmet, journeyed over to Richie’s bandages and bruises, and she could only sputter furiously._ _

__“I cannot believe this. This is you, out there, on those news channels? Flying around on a damn saucer and,” she looked at Richie with judging eyes, “a damn jetpack to match?”_ _

__Groaning, Virgil shook his head in disbelief, his hands almost accusatory. “You told me you loved Static, you thought he and that green boy were doing the citizen’s work and keeping the city safe, and now that you know it’s me all of a sudden it’s--- it’s… what word am I looking for, Rich?”_ _

__Richie rolled his eyes but could hear the fatigue in Virgil’s voice, so he supplied, “Impractical?”_ _

__“Right! Now it’s,” Virgil gestured to his outfit and made air quotation marks, “impractical? Don’t be a hypocrite.”_ _

__Voice low and tense, Sharon put down her augmented first aid kit and squared off against her brother, her voice trembling only slightly. “I didn’t say impractical. What I meant, if you listened, thickhead, was dangerous. This shit is _dangerous _.”___ _

____Richie and Virgil shared a small, quick look of surprise before Virgil turned back to her, shoulders hunched in a sheepish shrug._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, you ain’t wrong. If it helps, we know.”_ _ _ _

____With a sigh, the older woman knelt on the worn rug and opened her kit, eyes hidden as she began to sort out her supplies on their rickety wooden coffee table._ _ _ _

____“Richie, let me see that leg. I don’t--” she stopped, visibly calming herself as she started to tremble minutely before her muscles relaxed, “This conversation is not over. We will discuss this. But first aid first. Virgil, sit your ass down next to your boyfriend, you’re making me nervous.”_ _ _ _

____With an abruptness, the sound of pacing steps across the concrete floor of the station stopped. Choking a little, Virgil sat with wide eyes next to Richie, who’d propped himself up so his leg was easy to access. Richie exchanged a look with his boyfriend, but could do nothing else but take his hand as Sharon began to cut the fabric of his pants to reach the wound._ _ _ _

____V squeezed his hand briefly before managing a small, “I’m sorry we’re stupid, Sharon. But thank you.”_ _ _ _

____The kneeling woman wiped at her eyes quickly with her wrist before going back to her task on a wincing Richie._ _ _ _

____“Shut up. You’ll make me sappy and you know I hate that shit, baby brother.”_ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> People who are still reading this are troopers. I intend to post the second chapter soon, possibly in two weeks, and hopefully have this finished in a couple of months, most likely by the end of the year. it's taken me a long time to come back to this fic because I had some intensely personal stuff going on and I lost a family member after a long, drawn out battle with hospitalizations, but your comments have kept me going, your likes have kept me going, and your support has kept me going. Even if no one reads this piece, and if no one finishes it, you all mean the world to me and I'm thankful I have people that appreciated my work. Thank you all so fucking much. XOXO


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